Sam and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
by Karibou
Summary: COMPLETE.  Oneshot.  Just another night in the garage...  SJ romance.  Rated for mature,  a.k.a HOT,  content.


Before I introduce this fanfic, I invite you all to check out my new and improved homepage. (www DOT glowingpuddle DOT com.) I've now got forums, a gallery, and a fan-directory-wiki. They're empty, and will remain so until you all go start filling in the blanks. So, pass the word. If you're a stargate fan and author/artist/blogger/livejournal owner/webmaster, please add your name to the wiki. And, with that said…

Welcome to another summer diversion! (Have I been prolific in the last few weeks, or what?) Never fear, more _Torment_ will be posted soon. This one was something I wrote a while ago, but wasn't sure I wanted to share, 'cause… well, it's a bit sweaty. Even for me. However, a dear friend recently got wind of this fic and convinced me to post it. So, here it is. Sex and all.

**WARNING: THIS IS HOT.**

This is definitely M for Mature. Hot. Heavy. Spittin' distance from MA. Since MA/NC-17 is not allowed on this site, I realize I'm pushing the envelope here a bit. I sincerely hope this is not offensive. It's pretty much cheap smut, so consider yourselves warned. If you don't like romance novel sex, you can just back out of this one now!

**Title:** Sam and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

**Rating:** M (A very strong M!)

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, though apparently I like to watch… (clears throat) Um, I mean, MGM is sole owner of my favorite nekkid heroes.

**Classifications:** Sam/Jack romance

**Season/Spoilers:** Just after S8, post-Moebius-2

**Summary:** Just another night in the garage…

**Sam and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance**

* * *

It had been a long day.

After being gone for nearly a week, Sam's desk had begun to look like a small replica of Cheyenne Mountain. Not only did she have a boatload of paperwork to catch up on, but there were at least five separate projects she'd need to either wrap up or prepare to hand off in the next few weeks. By noon, she'd been ready to down a fistful of aspirin to reduce the pounding in her head. By six, she'd decided against aspirin and decided to go straight for the Scotch. Now, at nine, she was finally starting to unwind. A few stiff drinks and a few hours working on her bike had gone miles toward easing the tension in her body.

She assured herself that it was only job-transfer stress which was making her so irritable and tense.

It had nothing to do with her week at Jack's cabin.

As soon as her mind's eye swept over memories of the picturesque little lake and cozy log cabin, she felt a pang of frustration well in her belly. Really, she insisted to herself, she was being totally irrational. There was absolutely no reason to feel disappointed in the week's events… or _non-_events, as it were. So what if nothing had really changed? Who cared if, after eight long years, nothing earth-shattering had happened? It was fine. Really.

Finally giving in to her dark mood, Sam slammed a wrench down on her garage workbench.

Dammit. She hadn't even caught a fish.

Closing her eyes, she stifled a groan of frustration. Okay, she admitted, so maybe she was a _little_ on-edge as a result of her Minnesota "vacation." But, surely, it would pass. Just like the other six-hundred-million times it had passed in the last eight years.

If only the cabin had been… bigger.

It was damn near impossible to walk from one end of the tiny space to the other without bumping into someone. And, surely, the fact that she was usually bumping into her soon-to-be-former CO had _nothing_ to do with her tension.

It couldn't have anything to do with the glimpse she'd caught of him in nothing but a towel following an early-morning shower.

Or the way his leg had brushed hers while they'd been fishing for eight hours.

Or the scent of his aftershave in the humid, mid-summer heat.

Grinding her teeth together, Sam inhaled sharply and picked up the wrench with more force than was strictly necessary. All right, fine. She'd admit it.

After spending an entire week in close quarters with Jack, she was ready to spontaneously combust. And it didn't help one iota that the man hadn't seemed even remotely affected by her presence. He hadn't so much as looked at her inappropriately during the entire, week-long trip.

And it was _really_ pissing her off.

Dropping to the ground beside her vintage Indian, she tried steering her wayward thoughts away from Jack O'Neill and toward fixing the damn cycle. The fact that she was trying to place a wrench in a nearly accessible spot did little to soothe her mood. Though her arms were fairly long and flexible, it was a chore. Cycles of the 1940's had not been designed for ergonomically efficient maintenance. She was practically lying under the damn thing, and was still having a hard time positioning her wrench. Awkwardly contorting her body into a nearly impossible position, Sam finally was able to reach the elusive bolt.

"That doesn't look comfortable."

The familiar voice took her so completely off-guard, Sam jerked forward, bumped her head on the bike's fuel tank, and caused a rare four-letter expletive to spring reflexively from her lips. As the stars slowly cleared from Sam's vision, she was left staring at the amused face of her former CO.

Instantly lapsing into military protocol, Sam felt a flush rise into her cheeks as embarrassment over her language washed over her. "Sorry, sir," she said quickly. "I wasn't expecting company."

Jack's eyes twinkled as his expression transformed into his trademark mischievous grin. "Really, Carter, it should be me apologizing. Didn't mean to startle you."

As Sam's head began to clear, she noticed he was dressed in civilian clothes. His casual T-shirt and worn blue jeans clung to his well-muscled body in ways Sam wish she hadn't noticed. "Off duty?" she asked casually, hoping the heat in her belly didn't shine in her eyes.

Jack simply nodded, apparently noticing nothing unusual in her gaze. "Just getting ready for the endless tedium that awaits me in Washington. I was in meetings at the SGC all afternoon and thought I'd stop by to see how things were going."

Setting her wrench down on the garage floor, Sam braced herself against the now-familiar rush of emotion that his presence evoked in her. Affection, respect, and something far more raw and visceral all raced through her weary heart simultaneously. "I'm pretty good," she said with a careless smile as she picked herself up from the garage floor. "Looks like I'll be heading to Area 51 in a few weeks."

Jack nodded, the intense look in his brown eyes belying his easygoing manner. "I had no doubt you'd be a shoo-in for that promotion. Who could possibly know more about alien technology than you?"

She shrugged. "I suppose." As she turned her gaze to his, time seemed to slow to a trickle. Moments of privacy between them had always been rare, and this was no exception. Even the time they'd spent at his cabin had been shared with Daniel and Teal'c. She really hadn't minded – the team was so much like family now that none of them even noticed the lack of privacy. Still, Sam couldn't help wondering if Jack might have been a little less platonic if it had just been the two of them.

Sighing inwardly, she shoved the wistful thought from her head. Clearly, he was gearing up for the next phase of his career. Maybe he didn't want to clutter his life with a relationship at this point.

Or maybe he wasn't interested anymore.

A lance of anxiety shot through her chest as the thought occurred to her. Swallowing, she gazed deeply into his brown eyes, searching for some clue that he might still have feelings for her.

The ghost of a smile flitted across his features, but he was otherwise unreadable. "Hard to believe it's really ending, isn't it?"

The stark words seemed to strip something from Sam's spirit. Feeling a vice of grief momentarily grip her heart, she tore her eyes from his and nodded. "I'll say," she murmured. How on earth could SG-1 be disbanding? How could all their years of teamwork and dedication come down to such a mundane and anticlimactic resolution? It seemed impossible that her rich and rewarding career as second-in-command of the planet's first line of defense was really coming to a close. Her job was her life, and it was going away.

Even worse, Jack would be going away, too.

Turning around before her sadness appeared on her face, Sam tried to focus on something less serious. "Can I get you a beer?" she asked lightly, hoping her voice didn't betray her.

"Sure." Jack's voice let nothing of his own feelings show.

Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, Sam nodded toward the cluttered garage. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

* * *

Watching the door swing shut behind her, Jack exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his silver hair. All this light conversation and supposed disinterest were slowly killing him. It was bad enough he'd had to keep things friendly and lighthearted when he'd had Daniel and Teal'c around to distract him. One-on-one, pretending to be unaffected by Sam Carter was damn near impossible.

Sighing, he reminded himself that he couldn't just rush in and try to sweep her off her feet. She'd just lost her father and called off her wedding. Surely, no woman in her right mind would be looking for another long-term relationship in the wake of such traumas. And, in light of the mountain of feelings he harbored for the woman, he had no desire to pursue anything less than a long-term relationship.

Hell, he'd waited eight years. What were a few more months?

Jack stifled a groan at the thought. Perhaps his _brain_ understood that logic, but his _body_ was most certainly not on the same page. Over the entire week he'd spent at his cabin with her, he hadn't been able to take even one hot shower. Cold water was about the only thing that had kept him from making a total fool of himself. Something about being in such close quarters with her – on _his_ turf, fishing _his_ lake – had left him in a brutally uncomfortable state of perpetual arousal. His body seemed painfully aware that the frat regs were now pretty much moot, and it wanted to get down to business as soon as possible.

He'd thought he'd finally cooled down enough from the trip to venture a quick visit to her house. With the end of SG-1 rapidly approaching, he knew she'd be feeling particularly down, and he wanted to make sure she was okay before he began readying for his move to DC. However, when he'd walked into the garage and found her wearing short-shorts and a skimpy tank top while twisting herself around that vintage bike of hers… Well, something had short-circuited in his head as he'd processed the gorgeous vision before him.

Damn, he wanted her.

Suddenly, the side door to the garage re-opened, and the object of his lust stepped in, holding two bottles of Guinness. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He doubted he'd ever seen a lovelier picture. The tiny spaghetti straps which held her black tank top in place left miles of her pale, slightly freckled shoulders open for inspection. The denim cut-offs cupping her gently rounded bottom also highlighted her amazing legs, which seemed to stretch for miles. A few tiny smudges of dirt and grease marred her flawless skin in an adorably sexy manner. And, as icing on the cake, she was walking toward him holding two bottles of the best beer in the world – one for him and one for her.

It really didn't get better than that.

As she handed one of the cold bottles to him, he nodded gratefully. "Thanks," he said softly, hoping she'd ignore the raspy quality to his voice.

She smiled. "No problem." Feeling the temperature in the room starting to rise again, Sam turned back to her bike, hoping to put some distance between her and the dangerous man behind her. "Do you mind if I try to wrap this up while we talk?" she asked, gesturing to the cycle in front of her.

Did he mind watching her get down and dirty with a vintage motorcycle? Jack stifled a grin. "Not at all." Hell, he'd probably be willing to pay admission.

Sam began to seek the elusive bolt once again. "When are you leaving?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

A bit distracted by the pale strip of skin exposed on her lower back, it took him a moment to answer. "Not really sure," he replied slowly. As she continued to bend down, the waistband of her shorts rode lower. Soon, a pair of lacy, black underpants was just barely visible.

Jack closed his eyes and swallowed a hefty gulp of his beer.

"Damn." Her voice was low and distracted. Clearly, the motorcycle wasn't cooperating. Then, almost reluctantly, she spoke again.

"Can you give me a hand?"

Her words caused a reflexive intake of breath – an action which did not go well with drinking beer. Coughing violently, Jack tried to regain the ability to breathe.

At the sound of his choking, Sam turned around quickly. "Sir?" she asked, a note of concern in her voice.

He waved dismissively as he wrestled control of his respiratory system from the Guinness he'd just inhaled. In a few moments, his lungs began to clear. "Wrong pipe," he gasped.

Seeing that he really was okay, Sam nodded. Then, turning back to her bike, she remembered her original question. "I hate to put you to work, but there's a piece of disconnected piping here which keeps getting in my way." She smiled dryly. "Apparently, motorcycle repairmen in the '40's had a few more arms than I do."

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Jack set his Guinness down on the nearby workbench and walked up behind her. Gazing down at the soft, vulnerable spot on the nape of her neck, he felt his body tighten in response. It took considerable control to keep his mouth from brushing against the delicate skin there, but he managed to crouch behind her without embarrassing himself. "Where do you need me?"

His question, innocently asked, sent arrows of heat rocketing through Sam's body. _Oh, if only I could tell you…_ Then, realizing he expected an answer, she forced her mind to re-engage. "Here," she said hoarsely, pointing to the problem. "Just lift this while I tighten the bolt beneath it."

Working on a motorcycle was generally not a two-man job. Due to the ordered chaos of shelving, tools, and spare parts in the garage, quarters were already fairly tight. Add to that the presence of two adult bodies occupying a very small space around the Indian, and suddenly, air in the room seemed a bit scarce.

Slowly, like the moon approaching its zenith, Jack's arm reached around her slight frame and grasped the piping in question, lifting it out of the way. The only way to make contact with the troublesome part was to lean in very close – close enough that his chest pushed snugly against the bare skin of her shoulders and back. His mouth was centimeters from her ear. He was sure she'd be able to hear his heart pounding.

As his body pressed against her, Sam found herself momentarily paralyzed. She could hear the soft whisper of his breath in her ear and feel his solid strength behind her. Swallowing, she realized that all she needed to do was turn her head, and his amazing, sculpted mouth would be at a perfect level for sampling.

Suddenly, she realized he was probably wondering what was taking her so long. Picking her wrench back up, she tried concentrating on the job at hand. Unfortunately, the sensation of his heat so close to her body had utterly rattled her. Clumsily, she knocked an end of the wrench against the place where the disconnected piping had once latched, shifting it into her path of operation.

Before she had a chance to try to move the piece back, Jack's other arm shot around her remaining shoulder and pushed the piece back in place. In a heartbeat, he'd sandwiched her between his body and the bike.

Her sharp, reflexive intake of breath was clearly audible.

Behind her, Jack heard her slight gasp and watched as color rushed into her cheeks. Suddenly, his mind became tantalizingly alert to something he'd rather not know.

She was _aware_ of him – of his physical presence behind her.

He knew he shouldn't be surprised. There had always been a level of tension between them. However, until now, he'd really convinced himself that she was far too emotionally disengaged to even think about physical attraction to him.

That little gasp told him otherwise.

All at once, he desperately needed some distance from her. "Got it?"

Turning the wrench gracelessly, Sam did manage to get the bolt tightened. "Yeah. Thanks." The husky quality to her voice was obvious, even to her.

Jack instantly dropped his arms and pushed away. Rising to his feet, he prayed she wouldn't direct any of her attention to the region below his waist. His arousal was blatant, and there was nothing nearby to hide behind.

Sam, for her part, was just as disconcerted by the contact. Dropping the wrench clumsily on the floor, she stood and walked skittishly to the other end of the room. She, too, felt the need for some space. Drawing a shaky breath, she tried to convince herself that she'd imagined the frisson of heat jolting between them. She'd spent too many hours thinking about his close proximity at the cabin – that was all. She clenched her teeth reflexively. He'd given her absolutely no objective indications that he was interested in anything more than friendship with her. She'd be damned if she made a fool of herself because her hormones were overreacting.

Drawing a calming breath, she looked at the neatly-labeled boxes along her wall. "I know I have a spare set of spark-plug wires up here somewhere."

Jack tried shaking off the intense heat which had enveloped him. A bead of perspiration was slowly trickling down his temple. Irritated, he swiped it away. "Your bike looks great," he said blandly, trying to come up with some sort of benign conversation topic.

Still unable to look at him, for fear of giving away the fever pounding through her veins, Sam smiled at the shelving unit in front of her. "Thanks," she replied. "I've worked on it as much as I could. Unfortunately, there always seemed to be something more important to do."

Finding some comfort in their small talk, Jack began to relax slightly. "Yeah. Saving the universe is a time-consuming pain-in-the-ass, hey?"

She was unable to resist a glance over her shoulder. The dry, mischievous smile on his face caused another wave of attraction to crash over her. Still, it was worth it. Turning back to the shelves, she forced herself to _not_ think about what life would be life without this man in it. "It is," she agreed softly. Suddenly, she spotted the box she'd been looking for. "There it is!" she exclaimed, glad for the distraction. "Spark plug wires."

Naturally, the box in question was on the very top of the shelving unit. Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the rack and reached for the highest shelf. After a moment, her fingers made contact with the bottom of the box. Gripping it as best as she could, she tugged it toward her and tipped it forward, hoping to angle it down to her level.

Half-a-second later, she realized she'd misjudged the weight of the box. It was _heavy_, and it was sliding precariously toward her head. Just as she was sure it would give into gravity and knock her out cold, a pair of warm arms reached around her and caught it on the brink of disaster.

Jack was certain she'd just taken a year off his life. Why on earth hadn't she just asked for help? She could have been hurt badly, had he not been able to shoot across the garage and lend a hand.

"I've got it," he breathed, balancing the box carefully on the edge of the shelf.

She was about to reply, when something completely unexpected happened.

As she leaned backward to gain more leverage, Jack leaned forward to push the box back on its perch. Suddenly, his entire body, from collarbone to thigh, was pressed firmly against her back.

And, all at once, Sam had absolutely no doubts about whether he was attracted to her or not. The evidence, forced intimately against her bottom, was as unmistakable as it was impressive.

Oh, _lord_, was it impressive.

Closing her eyes, Sam felt heat shoot through her like a drug. A tiny whimper of desire slipped past her throat unintentionally.

Jack, meanwhile, was in purgatory. He'd felt the exact moment she realized what his body was telling her, and he wasn't sure whether he was more turned on or embarrassed as a result. As the seconds ticked by, he slowly realized she seemed to be paralyzed in place. Clearing his throat softly, he prodded her into motion. "Sam? Can you push the box forward?" He wasn't sure he had the leverage to move the heavy carton back on his own.

Mortified, Sam felt her face turn ruby-red. Good lord, had he just caught her mired in a daydream about the state of his pants? Wordlessly, she began to push against the box, until, seconds later, it was securely back on its shelf.

As soon as he felt the container shift back into place, Jack jerked away from her as though he'd been burned by the contact. In truth, he wasn't sure he _hadn't_ been. Drawing a deep breath, he struggled to give an explanation which wouldn't come off sounding ridiculous. "Sam, I–"

She spun around, eyes blazing. "Stop." Her voice was quiet, but still managed to cut through the air with razor-sharp intensity. "Stop right there."

He stood, mouth open, pinned by the power in her gaze.

Sam felt her heart racing at triple its normal speed. What had just happened moments ago… she hadn't imagined it. He'd stood behind her, pressing the evidence of his attraction against her body with bold audacity. Whether Jack O'Neill was interested in more than a casual fling or nor, she finally _knew_ he was interested in her – at least, physically.

And, heaven help her, tonight that was enough.

"Don't you dare apologize," she said gruffly.

Jack blinked. The fire dancing in her blue eyes was enough to set him on his ear. He felt as though someone had filled his head with molasses, for all the quick thinking he was capable of. "But, Sam–"

She cut him off again. "No." Resolutely, she took a step toward him. "First of all, you have no control over that particular reaction," she said, noting the flare of embarrassed heat which flickered in his dark eyes at her proclamation. "Secondly," she pushed ahead, unwilling to be side-tracked tonight, "It's more than a little flattering, and I'd like to enjoy that for a little while." She smiled inwardly in satisfaction as his eyes widened at her boldness. Energized by his reactions, she took two more steps forward, so that she now stood face-to-face with him. "And finally," she rasped, "I'm in pretty much the same state – it's just less noticeable in a woman."

Jack felt the floor tilt as her words sank in. _Good lord._ She couldn't mean– "Wait," he ground out from between clenched teeth, "did you just say–"

Sam responded before he'd even managed to get his thought completely out. "I'm just as turned on as you are," she murmured fiercely.

Jack sucked in a deep breath and stepped back. "Jesus Christ," he exclaimed forcefully. Brown eyes sparking with unrestrained desire, he seemed to bore a hole through her with the sheer power in his gaze. "Are you trying to kill me?"

The desperation in his voice was obvious. Suddenly, Sam knew there was no going back. He _wanted_ her. A feeling of pure, feminine power washed over her, and she reacted instantly.

Jack had no idea what had happened. One moment, she'd been several feet away, regarding him with her wide, mysterious eyes. The next moment, she was grasping his face between her graceful hands and pulling his mouth down to hers.

Their lips met in a torrent of sheer, unadulterated need. Sam may have initiated the contact, but it was a toss-up as to who threw themselves into it more enthusiastically. Hauling her body against his, Jack relished the feeling of her breasts pushed against the unyielding wall of his chest.

Sam moaned softly and tugged at the button of his jeans. She could feel the swell of his arousal pressed against the junction of her thighs, and knew she needed more than casual contact with his rigid heat.

She wanted all of him.

Now.

As her fingers nimbly tugged on his fly, Jack felt his lungs expand reflexively. "God, Sam–" He broke off abruptly as her hand slipped inside his pants and grasped his waiting heat.

Having lost the ability to speak, he knew he'd need to slow her down in a less verbal manner. Gripping her wrist with one hand, he roughly forced her backwards until her bottom landed against the edge of her workbench. Pulling her hand from his waistband, he pinned it behind her.

With his other hand, he managed to repeat her earlier actions, and tugged open the button of her shorts. Capturing her whimper of satisfaction with an open-mouthed kiss, he roughly jerked the zipper of her cut-offs down and released her other arm. With both of his hands free, he was able to tug the shorts down over her hips, revealing the tiny, transparent scrap of lace beneath.

Jack pulled his face away from hers and met her eyes intensely. The familiar blue eyes of his longtime colleague were now clouded with rampant desire. Slowly, inch-by-inch, his hand crept down the smooth skin of her belly until it grazed the top of her panties. Sliding over the textured fabric, he trailed his fingers across the blond curls beneath and leisurely caressed the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

Eyes locked with his, Sam felt her body respond in ways she hadn't known it could. "Please, Jack," she gasped.

One finger traced the elastic which hugged the most delicate part of her. "Please, what?" he replied roughly.

The sensation of his hand, so close to the molten core of her, was enough to drive her crazy. "Touch me," she gasped, turning her thigh outward to grant him better access.

Unable to resist such an invitation, Jack responded by slipping his hand beneath the lace and into her hot, wet center.

Sam threw her head backward with an inarticulate cry of pleasure. Slowly, methodically, his fingers began to circle and dip in a manner which had her panting for air. Every time she thought she might fly apart, his hand stilled, bringing her back to earth, before beginning its sweltering pursuit anew.

Finally, she grabbed his chin and pulled his attention back to her face. "Now," she gasped. "Jack, I need you _now._"

The desperation in her voice reflected the overwhelming need in his own body. Without a word, he pulled his hand from beneath her panties and slid the tiny article of clothing down her legs. As she kicked the garment free, he placed one hand on each of her hips, and lifted her effortlessly onto the edge of the workbench.

Sam's hands were not idle, either. As he divested her of the last scrap of clothes on her lower body, she pulled his throbbing erection from his boxers, and grasped it firmly in her hand, savoring the heat of his body. Once her bottom was resting on the edge of the countertop, her hands pulled his hips into the cradle of her thighs, bringing the tip of his arousal against the moist heat of her sex.

For a moment, they stayed locked in that position, anticipating the sheer bliss which was about to follow. Then, with an unhurried motion that belied his violent need, Jack slowly, tantalizingly slid into her waiting heat.

Crying out with sheer pleasure, Sam tried to urge him faster by gripping his buttocks and tugging him close. He, however, would have none of it. He'd waited eight long years for this moment. He was going to make it last as long as possible. With impossible precision, he settled deep inside her and then leisurely withdrew, emulating the graceful strokes of a concert violinist drawing a bow across his delicate instrument.

Desperate to shatter his control, Sam wrapped both legs around him and gripped his erection with her body in the most intimate way possible. The tattered moan which tore from his throat assured her that her strategy was supremely effective. Finally, unable to put off the moment any longer, his hips began to rock back and forth more quickly. Faster and faster, the friction between their bodies began to build. When one of his hands slipped between her legs and gently rubbed the sensitive nub of flesh at the apex of her thighs, Sam felt her world explode.

The convulsive waves of pleasure wracked every muscle in her body for what seemed to be an eternity. And, as the most intimate parts of her contracted with release, she heard Jack cry out with his own shuddering climax and felt his rigid heat spasm reflexively inside her.

Slowly, lethargically, Sam began to float back down to earth. Opening her eyes, she was somewhat surprised to find his knowing dark eyes regarding her intensely.

She swallowed. "Wow." The word emerged as a hoarse whisper.

In reply, his mouth quirked into a somewhat smug grin. "I'll say," he murmured, leaning forward to place a delicate kiss on her lips. Then, pulling back, he met her gaze again. "You need to get dressed," he commanded softly.

Sam's throat constricted. Was he having regrets already? "Why?" The anxiety in her voice was clear.

Suddenly realizing how his request had sounded, Jack hurried to explain. "Because your garage isn't attached to your house," he said tenderly, "and I don't want the neighbors ogling your backside on the trip back in." As relief washed over her features, he relaxed as well. Glancing over the cluttered garage floor, a smile danced across his face. "I sure hope you didn't have your heart set on finishing that bike tonight," he murmured. Looking back at the flushed, breathless form of his lover, he placed a gentle kiss on a smudge of grease which graced her shoulder. "I think you're going to be a little too busy to get anything else done in the next few hours," he explained, nibbling delicately on her pale skin. Smiling at the discovery of another dark streak just above her collarbone, he placed a second kiss across it, enjoying the shiver it evoked. "And, I'm pretty sure you need a shower," he rasped hoarsely.

Sam smiled back. "I can live with that," she replied suggestively. Then, as his mouth continued to work its magic, her head lolled backwards. "Of course, there might be a few places I need help washing…"

* * *

A/N: Yes, I realize I never really wrapped up the "big" questions of ongoing relationship status, etc. Perhaps there will be a second chapter to this sometime in the future!


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